Tres Lados de España
by Tanoshimi
Summary: Three sides of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the nation of Spain. Three pieces of his personality. Three ways to show what his being consists of. Spain-centric, interaction with other characters included.
1. La Soledad

So, I had something really historical in mind, but then I decided to put in the history after next year, when I take Euro. Therefore, I used canon events instead of Wikipedia-ing information and this was born. By the way, this occurs throughout the fanfic. The lack of historical information, I mean.

Well, try to get through my nauseatingly horrible story.

**Side: **Reminiscent, angsty, somewhat creepy Spain

* * *

At first, all Spain could do was gape in shock. He had come all this way to the English courts, seeking assistance against the malicious sea pirates that had assailed his ships on numerous occasions… only to find that England himself was bestowing upon the curs medals and every kind of treasure imaginable. He could not for the life of him figure out why his supposed ally was fraternizing with his enemies. His normally dormant temper quickly rose to dangerous heights. Angered, he strode out from his place near the court doors.

"_¿Qué está ocurriendo—?" _Suddenly, all was dark.

* * *

When Spain came to, he realized that he was bound and blindfolded. Furthermore, he seemed to be lying on a hard floor that was, oddly enough, rocking. He tried to free himself but succeeded only in chafing his wrists on the rough rope with which they were tied. Frustrated, he yelled,

"_¡Inglaterra! __¿__Dónde estás?" _

"I'm right next to you. No need to shout." England's smug voice materialized from somewhere above him. "Now, if you promise to keep still, I'll remove the blindfold. Are we in agreement?" Gritting his teeth, Spain ground out a "_Sí._" However, the cloth over his eyes stayed firmly in place.

"Now, now, my abilities in Spanish aren't quite so strong. I'll have to ask that you speak in the Queen's English from now on." Spain was outraged. England's knowledge of Spanish transcended well beyond the simple phrases that he was using at the moment. The nation obviously wanted to humiliate him. But, he reasoned, what could he do? He was the prisoner, and he needed every advantage he could get in this foreign setting. So he swallowed the bile rising up in his throat and said,

"Yes. Take off the blindfold."

"Say please." Spain growled.

"…Please take off the blindfold."

"Ah, much better." The covering was removed from his eyes and he could see again. Spain gathered that he was in a ship's cabin. He managed to work himself into a sitting position against the wall.

"¿_Dó—_Where am I?"

"Right now, you are on the ship the _S.S. Britannica. _We are sailing toward your country to bring you home. But I wouldn't count on making it there so soon; there appears to be bad weather up ahead. All the better, actually. I've been meaning to talk to you about something. He stood up and knelt beside Spain. "What you saw back at the palace; that remains a secret between us."

"¡¿_Qué?" _His eyes blazed with fury.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you. Are we in accordance?"

"No! I will tell my king and queen everything that I have seen."

"I don't think that's a very good idea. As I understand it, your people are going through some hard times and your 'Invincible Armada' has lost its prestigious title. Are you sure you want the added burden of having my people declare war on yours for a false accusation?"

"You are telling me that what I saw in that room, you giving rewards to the pirates, was false? That is ridiculous! I do not understand why you were rewarding them anyway."

"Such a thing is not necessary for you to know. As for the incident in the palace, I shall do my best to deny it. And I can be very convincing."

"I will tell everything, "Spain repeated. England's gaze hardened.

"Very well, I had hoped that it would not come to this. You leave me no choice." He went to the door and called, "Robbins! Take the prisoner to the brig. No one is allowed to go near him with the exception of the cook to bring him meals, and myself." A rough, burly man came into the room, hoisted Spain onto his feet, and led him down to the hold of the ship. There, he was pushed unceremoniously into a dark cell and left to himself.

* * *

A few days in the brig had muddled up Spain's sense of time. However, he was fairly certain that England came to call on him every evening. His captor was unsteady on his feet tonight, a sure sign that he had been toying with rum.

"Oi, Spain! How are you doing in there?" He hiccoughed a bit. Spain gave him an insincere smile.

"Just fine, my friend. And how are you?"

"O-Okay. You've been behaving rather well lately, so I've decided t-to let you out."

"Oh? That is kind of you." Finally, the opportunity that he had been waiting for! He had been biding his time, waiting for a chance to confront the other nation. Once he was released from his prison, he suggested slyly, "Let us go to your cabin, in order to further continue our conversation." England, since he had no control over himself, nodded. So Spain took him back to his room. The pair elicited suspicious looks from the crewmen as they passed. Once they were safely inside, Spain discreetly locked the door.

"Let us talk now." He walked leisurely to the bed upon which England was seated. "Do you enjoy sailing?"

"I-I suppose. It is relaxing."

"I have heard that you were quite the pirate in times before."

"Did you?" The other laughed raucously. "Well, I suppose. Those were the days; sailing high on the Seven Seas!" As he was just about to burst into song, Spain asked,

"Do you still associate with the pirates now?"

"Sometimes. We go out for rum, though secretly, of course. Why, just the other day, we were laughing about how we managed to penetrate the Spanish Armada—"He looked around shiftily. "But that stays between us." Trying to keep his boiling anger down, Spain replied sweetly,

"Oh, I will keep that in mind." England had a strange glint in his eyes.

"Will you? I don't quite believe that. A little token of proof, perhaps?" And with that, he pulled Spain onto the bed and as quick as lightning positioned himself above him.

"What are you doing—"

"I know that you will tell your superior everything. That is inevitable. But I would like to make the most of our situation before we are both thrust into hell." Spain finally realized that England was not as drunk as he had assumed. He had thought himself to be the one on top, but in truth, England was the cat and he the mouse. Slightly panicked, he looked over at the locked door. There was no way out. The other's intentions were clearly written on his lust-filled face. Seeing no viable solution, Spain hissed,

"¡_Tú eres el hijo de perros!_"

"Oh, shut up, Antonio," England purred, grasping his chin in his hand and crashing his lips onto his.

* * *

Spain started. He sat up in his bed, panting lightly. The clock on his bedside table read three nineteen a.m. His recurring dream had woken him up yet again, and three hours before his alarm was set to ring too. The paneled walls of the ship's cabin faded into the striped wallpaper of his hotel room, and the swaying of the _S. S. Britannica _gradually ceased as he realized he was on stable ground. He could not understand why the dreams started to manifest themselves _now_, when the events had transpired so long ago and they had never been a bother before. Perhaps the stress caused by his failing economy and the tension of the World Cup had roused ancient memories from his subconscious. He touched his forehead lightly; there was a thin layer of perspiration on it. Spain made his way to the bathroom and splashed some water onto his face. He braced himself against the sink and stared at his dripping visage in the mirror. There must have been a reason why he kept reliving the fateful day when England took him. It had happened to him plenty of times before; he had seized others and others had seized him. But that instance had been different, like… had had actually enjoyed it. Spain felt sick. He dropped onto his bed and tried to fall asleep. However, the elusive sandman refused to aid him. He suddenly felt very alone in his dingy little hotel.

_Ding! Ding! Ding! _This time, it was the alarm that managed to rouse Spain. He had eventually fallen asleep after staring listlessly at the ceiling. Now he hit the snooze button and got up. He held his head in his hands. Thankfully, there had been no more dreams. But he could not shake the feeling that something big was going to happen. His premonitions turned out to be true when he walked into the Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium and ran straight into England.

"_¿Inglaterra?" _

"Oh, Spain! Fancy meeting you here." He smiled, running a hand through his hair. Spain gave a carefree laugh.

"_¡Hola! _I did not expect to meet you here as well."

"I gather you are watching the match as well, then?"

" _Sí, _Portugal made me promise that I would watch this game." He gestured at the bleachers. "Where are you sitting?"

"Er, somewhere over there, I believe." England pointed at the middle left-hand side.

"¿_De veras? _I also! Let us go together!" As it ended up, they had seats right next to each other. Spain tried not to appear too uncomfortable. "How have you been?"

"Fine, I suppose." The blonde nation had to shout to be heard over the din. "I believe they are starting!" His companion settled back as best as he could. As the respective anthems of the Ivory Coast and Portugal were played, Spain attempted to relax and enjoy himself. After all, he would be sitting next to England for the next two hours, like it or not.

By the culmination of the game, Spain had worked himself into a considerable frenzy. The score had come out to a smashing zero to zero, something that he knew Portugal would drag him to a bar later on to lament over. He had yelled and cheered quite as loudly as all of the other fans, and had almost forgotten about England until the nation had cursed rather loudly during a missed goal. However, he had shrugged it off as he was wont to do, merely continuing to observe the game. After offering his congratulations to both the Ivory Coast and Portugal, he strolled along the streets with England.

"Quite an interesting game. Never thought it would come out to be zero to zero, though."

"It was very surprising, no?"

"Indeed. But well played. Your game is on Wednesday, correct?"

"Yes."

"The best of luck to you then. Hopefully you will be spared of the fate that I was consigned to." He winced. "Namely tying one to one with the most obnoxious git in the world."

"Thank you. I will do my best." Spain sighed wistfully. "Do you ever think back to the days when we were the best in the world? When power was determined by conquest and _fútbol_ was not yet in style internationally?"

"Sometimes. Those were the days, weren't they?" England's green eyes, once filled with everything from anger to passionate longing, were now pensive. The other nation saw his chance.

"Do you remember the day when we…?"

"I don't understand." But judging by the sudden widening of his eyes, he did. Spain smiled sadly.

"I am not as dense as you think me to be, _Inglaterra. _You know what I am speaking of, I can see it."

"I'm sorry. I honestly have no idea what you are talking about."

"Do you have dreams about it? I do. They haunt me at night, the memories." His face was devoid of all insouciance. England began to look wary. He walked a bit faster.

"It was nice seeing you again. I'm afraid I must take my leave of you now, however. Have a nice day."

"You deny it, but before you go, I will tell you this: you are not alone if you feel longing too, Arthur. _Nosotros somos similares._" As the other nation hurried away, frightened, Spain put his hands in his pockets and walked away forlornly.

He was at the heart of the world's attention here in South Africa, yet he had never felt more alone.

* * *

My interest in the World Cup is great. The Spanish was derived from my own limited knowedge. If any Spanish-speaking person cares to enlighten me on this fantastic language, I would be more than delighted to learn.

La Soledad - solitude

¿Qué está ocurriendo? - What is happening?

Inglaterra - England

¿Dónde estás? - Where are you?

¿Qué? - What?

¡Tú eres el hijo de perros! - You are the son of dogs! (Or at least, I hope it means that. Help, anyone?)

¿De veras? - Really? (rough translation)

Nosotros somos similares. - We are similar.


	2. June 16 Aftermath

Second installment. This one has various languages in it, and almost everything besides the Spanish was translator-derived. Once, again, based on my interest in the World Cup and my disappointment at Spain's loss against Switzerland (go Switerland though!) At least they won against Honduras and aren't getting kicked out of the finals yet. And yes, I'm rooting for Spain even though I don't have a drop of Spanish blood in me.

**Side: **Worried, cute, helpful-in-a-brotherly-kind-of-way Spain

* * *

"Well, that was unexpected. I didn't think ol' _Schweiz _had it in him." Prussia rose from his seat in the bleachers and stretched. France, who was sitting beside him, stood up as well.

"I agree. We'd better go find Antonio; he disappeared pretty quickly after the game."

"I hope he isn't too beat up over this."

"Him? He's too optimistic to be brought down by something as trivial as football." Apparently, that was not the case. When the two made their way to the locker rooms, they found their target in a state of anxiety.

"Oi, Antonio! Good game out there." Spain turned at the sound of Prussia's voice.

"Gilbert? Francis? _¿Qué estáis haciendo aquí?_"

"Checking up on you of course, _mon ami. _Why are you staying here when everyone else has gone?" Spain cringed at the inquiry. Then he whispered,

"Romano." His friends looked at him expectantly.

"_Ja? _What about him?" The Spaniard fidgeted. He did not speak. His friends merely waited patiently. Sure enough, he soon said,

"I wanted to win this match, for Spain and for him. He'll be so disappointed that I lost!" Privately, the other two thought that the only reason South Italy would be disappointed would be because he had been dragged to the match by his former boss, thus depriving him of precious time with his tomatoes. A loud voice suddenly filled the room.

"Antonio! _Dove sei?" _

" ¡_E-Estoy aquí, _Lovi!" Spain suddenly looked rather pathetic with a stricken expression on his face and a bandage at his temple. His friends prepared to defend him from the encroaching Italian. The first thing out of Italy Romano's mouth was,

"Eeee! _Francia!" _

"_Ne vous inquiétez pas," _France said wearily. "I'm not going to do anything." Eyeing him distrustfully, Romano continued,

"Why did you drag me all the way here today, _Spagna_? You lost the game!"

"Hey, _den Mund halten! _He tried his best, you ungrateful—"

"And I cheered so hard for you too!" It was as if Romano had not heard Prussia. "The least you could have done was win." Spain immediately brightened up.

"You were cheering for me, Lovi?" The other blushed. He retorted hotly,

"Well, I wasn't going to cheer for Switzerland. He would probably blow my head off."

"Oh, Lovi! _¡Estoy tan feliz!" _Spain launched himself at the shorter man, preparing to embrace him.

"Get away from me, _bastardo!" _Despite Romano's vehement prostest, Spain still managed to accomplish his goal.

"That makes me feel much better! You know, I was trying to win that game for you, _mi tomatito." _

"S-Shut up."

"_Es la verdad._" South Italy huffed.

"I'm going back to the hotel now. "

"Okay, Lovi! I'll win the next match, I will!" It was then that Spain noticed he was the only on e in the locker room. "Gilbert? Francis?"

In a bar on the other side of town, Prussia and France clinked their glasses to the World Cup.

* * *

"Good game, Vash! Well played."

"Yeah, thanks. You too." Switzerland stared moodily into his beer. Sitting next to him and the pub's counter, Spain looked at him cheerfully.

"What's wrong?"

"You've raised a kid, haven't you?" the other country asked abruptly. "What do you do when they suddenly seem afraid to talk to you?" His companion thought for a while.

"I don't think I've ever had that problem. Romano was never afraid to talk to me." Memories of head butts and stinging remarks flooded his mind. "Are you talking about your sister?"

"…Maybe. Listen, can you help me or not?"

"Well, why do you think she's afraid to talk to you?"

"I never said it was her! But this person's face turns more red than usual when I speak to her and she excuses herself quite often when we're together. _Gott, _I don't know what to do." Switzerland toyed with his tankard. He suddenly asked in a low voice, "Do you think I'm… scary?" Spain laughed heartily, putting a reassuring hand on the other's back.

Cheer up, _amigo! _I think I know what's going on…"

* * *

Translations:

_German_

Schweiz - Switzerland

Ja - Yes

Den Mund halten. - Shut your mouth

Gott - God

_French_

mon ami - my friend

Ne vous inquiétez pas. - Don't worry.

_Italian_

Dove sei? - Where are you?

Francia - France

Spagna - Spain

bastardo - bastard

_Spanish_

¿Qué estáis haciendo aquí? - What are you (all) doing here?

Estoy aquí. - I'm here.

Estoy tan feliz. - I'm so happy.

mi tomatito - my (little?) tomato (or darling tomato, or something to that effect;-ito is a form of endearment)

Es la verdad. - It's the truth.

amigo - friend

Once again, help is appreciated on the foreign languages (really! I'm interested in that kind of stuff) and feedback is too. Sorry for the overwhelming shortness of the fanfic and the overwhelming longness of the translations. Hope it wasn't too terrible.


	3. The Flamenco of the Rose

I'm ashamed. The stories just keep on getting shorter. But please take the time to read this few small paragraphs; that would be much appreciated. On the other hand, no more translations! Isn't that great? No more foreign languages to hinder your reading!

This is supposed to be Spain-centric but told in the perspective of France.

**Side: **Faithful, lover Spain

* * *

Antonio has always been a good ally, a good friend, and a good lover. This is something that Francis cannot deny. Back in his glory days, he had scaled to great heights with Antonio rising beside him. When he fell from the pinnacle of power, Spain had plummeted as well. They had been the rulers of the world, had been known near and far, had each raised his own little colony-turned-country. Together. Side-by-side. Almost as one.

_Almost._

It is because of this almost that Francis now faces a dilemma. He and Antonio have been through much, that is true. But despite their mostly similar perspectives and sentiments, differences still manage to lurk about and worm their way between them. Francis, ever the romanticist, considers himself to be a free spirit, airy and light and at times ruthless in his pursuit of pleasure. Antonio thrives on stability, the knowledge that when he returns to his home after a long day, someone will always be present to help him through thick and thin. Since their preferences for partners differ greatly, France is not sure if he can stay with Spain for the amount of time that the other wants, that being forever. Anyway, a surly Englishman has caught his eye. Arthur and Antonio are as different as night and day, but Francis has an uncanny ability to mingle with absolutely everybody. But it is the way that his current lover is that makes him hesitate. Every time Antonio looks at him, adoration fills his brown eyes and in that moment, they are the sole beings in the world. Whenever they make love, Antonio is always gentle, tender, compliant. He is affectionate and friendly, steadfast and loyal. Wily in combat, but trusting in his personal life. Antonio is as passionate and bold as the colors of his flag. These are all wonderful characteristics indeed. This has, in fact, been the longest relationship that Francis has ever had with someone. Indecision whirls through his head; a dance of uncertainty. Should he leave or shouldn't he? Should he stay or should he not? However, his need for a liberal lifestyle is very great.

Antonio would never leave him (he is far too faithful), and that will make their parting all the more painful.

* * *

Thank you for coming to the end of this fanfiction! Feedback and advice are greatly appreciated.


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